


Dismembered Fairy Tale Journal: Snow White

by storytellingeyes



Series: Dismembered Fairy Tales [2]
Category: Schneewittchen | Snow White (Fairy Tale), Snow White - All Media Types, Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs (1937)
Genre: BDSM, Dark Fairy Tale Elements, Dom/sub, F/F, Fairy Tale Elements, Fairy Tale Retellings, Flogging, Lesbian Sex, Light BDSM, Rape/Non-con Elements, dismembered fairy tale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-06
Updated: 2016-07-06
Packaged: 2018-07-21 21:38:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7405819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storytellingeyes/pseuds/storytellingeyes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Snow White received a visit from the Prince in the neighboring kingdom, she's blushing and blissful. Though, the young princess forgets that the "fairest in the land" belongs to the evil Queen of the land.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dismembered Fairy Tale Journal: Snow White

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of a journal collection I've saved over the years called "Dismembered Fairy Tales". It's my own retelling of fairy tales (and a few others), in a darker, erotic setting. The stories are short, as they are usually journals or one shots, however, they are potential to be written more in depth later on, or written per requests by others.

Skin of porcelain and a false bed of purity were all that was white about her castle. The christening sheets were painted like the honeycrisp apples on her tree. She told me I tasted just as sweet, and adored the red spilling from my veins. The nails, polished so perfectly, trailed my every curve while I whimpered under her enchantment.  


"Please, stop!" I begged for her understanding.  


"A lament of young love," she said sickeningly sweet, continuing to open the valley of my marble thighs.  


"Empty promises are ever so charming."  


"I'll never see him again!" I exclaimed, hoping she would let up, but, as it so often happened, she only relished in my submission.  


"The fairest in all the land should belong to the most superior. Do you not agree?"  


The dark chuckle made my hips writhe against her swirling tongue.  


My escape was mocked with burning, leather-bound wrists and ankles, which continued to delve deeper into my flesh. The more I denied her, the more she gave to me, the more I wanted. When I moaned, she slid her serpent's tongue further into my pink folds.  


I cried.  


She finally stopped, and I could catch my shaken breath. Suddenly, a simultaneous crack raked against my breast, leaving a trail of claws. I cried again as the needles lashed the other. Each nipple ripened, throbbing, aching. Crack after crack, they started to bleed. Her apology came with her lips; sucking on them one by one. Her loose, raven hair tickled, traced and excited my skin; a gentle relief. My moans and whimpers charmed her like a cobra. I heard her dark hiss, too, right before the flog raked my heat.  


"No!"  


Her long nails slid between my thighs, inside me, and pulled out for a taste of honey. I felt her fangs sink into that little spot like an apple, poisoning me; so painful, so good. My mouth watered. Then came the torment—she stopped. On the wall hung a mirror, framed by baroque gargoyles that revealed to me my indulgence; a slave of lust.  


"Mirror, Mirror."  


The reflection showed no trickery or illusion, but the truth. "No, please!" I prayed for mercy. Even more taunting than her owning me was her stopping.  


"You are," I said with a heavy rasp.  


"I am what?" Her voice was velvet, rich in delight, vibrating against me with each word.  


"You are," I groaned, she had my satisfaction pinned between her lips, "my Queen."  


The viper grinned, mocking my secret and slipped her talons inside, exposing me like a blooming rose and she took the honey from my budding clit. When I was in full bloom her lips kissed mine and my chest fluttered. She pulled away from the heat, ripped off the stained sheets and released my binds before she left my room. To prove she was my Queen I would tend to my filth, washing myself and the sheets until we were both pure as snow, hoping she'd come back to me the following night. But I couldn't move just yet.  


I needed proof that she was there—that I was hers, even if she never laid a pretty nail on me again.

©cheriebelles 2016


End file.
